


One of Those Days

by astudyinfic



Series: Blood is Thicker Than Water [5]
Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Family Feels, M/M, utter fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3856243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinfic/pseuds/astudyinfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the select folks who worked at MI6, ‘one of those days’ took on a new meaning.  ‘One of those days’ did not mean extra paperwork or running out of coffee.  For MI6, one of those days often ended in death, in explosions and blood and fire.  ‘One of those days’ were the things nightmares were made of and yet they were expected to carry on the next day as if nothing had happened.</p><p>Q was good at getting past those days and people wondered what his secret really was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of Those Days

_One of those days._

As a phrase it was often uttered by the working public.  A day when your boss seemed out to get you, when your coworkers were on your every nerve, and anything that could go wrong, did.  By the end of the day, you are calculating how long you could survive without your salary.  ‘One of those days’ brought people together, commiserating at the pub or over the supper table, feeling the camaraderie of people all fighting the same battles.

For the select folks who worked at MI6, the words took on a new meaning.  ‘One of those days’ did not mean extra paperwork or running out of coffee.  For MI6, one of those days often ended in death, in explosions and blood and fire.  ‘One of those days’ were the things nightmares were made of and yet they were expected to carry on the next day as if nothing had happened.

Q was good at getting past those days.  His first week on the job saw him setting loose the madman who eventually killed M.  If that wasn’t one of those days then nothing was.  And if Q could survive that, he was convinced he could survive anything.

The minions all commented behind his back at the strength their leader showed.  Head held high, Q would be at work first thing every morning, regardless of how late he had left the night before.  He could lose equipment, lose agents, lose everything, and yet he remained composed.  How he did it was a miracle they had yet to figure out.  For a job that came with mandatory mental health time off each month, the man at the head of the department should have needed it more than any, yet he was rarely absent, even working through pneumonia one fateful winter until R drugged his tea and drove him home.

His technicians came up with names for Q behind his back.  Teflon, since nothing seemed to stick, always rolling off his back.  The Ice Man, so cold and cool, never showing a hint of emotion.  Cyborg, because he could work longer hours than anyone without showing any strain.  They wondered at his secret and yet no one felt comfortable asking.  It was written off as a mystery that would never be solved.

* * *

 

It had been one of those days.  Q was dead on his feet and if not for the uncountable cups of Earl Grey, he would have slept through his stop on the tube.  The caffeine, along with the occasional elbow to the rib and usual jostling that accompanied any trip from downtown on the Underground, kept him awake just long enough to put his key in the latch of the door to his second floor walk-up before he stumbled in, only vaguely aware of the downstairs neighbor chastising him for the noise coming from his flat.

Micronesia had gone pear-shaped.  Two field agents had been injured, 006 had lost his weapon – again – and Q had to explain to the Budget Minister why the line item for four Aston Martin DB5’s was in fact a necessity and not an overindulgence.  Bond had failed to show up to his meeting with M so Mallory and chosen to yell at the agent’s spouse instead, knowing Q would make sure the prodigal 007 was there first thing in the morning.  So walking into a flat blaring Dean Martin was one thing too many for Q, even if Dean Martin was in fact his favourite.

“James Bond, what on God’s green Earth is that infernal racket?” he demanded, dropping hat and coat just inside the door, not bothering to pick them up just yet.  What was the point when he would be leaving to go back to Vauxhall Cross in just a few hours?  When now response came, Q moved farther into the flat, hand instinctively going to the weapon he always kept on him at Bond’s insistence.  The flat was noisy, yes, but it seemed almost void of life when at this time of the evening it was usually bustling with activity.

Children’s rooms were checked first and while book bags lay open on the floor and school uniforms were strewn on the beds, none of their kids seemed to be anywhere nearby.  The master bedroom, the one place that was usually silent and peaceful was also empty causing a sinking feeling to appear in his stomach.  “Calm down,” he muttered to himself.  His husband was James Bond and there was more security on the flat than even the children knew.  There was no way something had happened without a struggle at the very least and everything was in its place.

As Q turned the corner toward the kitchen, he let out the breath he had been holding, shaky with relief.  The sound of giggles and children’s voices came from the room with large windows that overlooked the city and he slipped the gun back into his belt, leaning against the doorway as he watched the scene play out in front of him.   

His eyes first fell on James, looking relaxed in his khaki trousers and collared shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  The difference between James the agent and James the family man were remarkable and Q counted himself lucky that he was the only one to see him in this way.  Abby, their youngest, stood on her Daddy’s toes, dancing around the kitchen to the crooning of Mr. Martin, a wide smile on Abby’s face as she giggled.  James’ smile was softer, fonder, but Q could easily see the resemblance between father and daughter.  Their twins, Charley and Harry, were setting the table, squabbling over the latest trades from their favourite footie teams.  It was the farthest thing from MI6 that Q could have imagined, this scene of domestic bliss in front of him, and it was exactly what he needed after that day.

Several minutes passed before any of the family looked over to see Q stand there.  It was Harry that saw him first, crying out, “Papa!” and running to throw himself in his arms.  Q knelt to hold his son tight, inhaling the smell of home that clung to each of their children.  Eventually, the other two children came over and he hugged and kissed each of them, their tiny hugs and excited squeals allowing his body to relax even more.

Only after their excitement died down did James step in and kiss his husband.  One look was all it took for him to understand, “One of those days?”  Q simply nodded, feeling James’ arms wrap around him and pull him close.  “We can talk about it after they go to sleep.  But until then, we made spag bol at Charley’s request.

“One of my favourites as well,” Q smiled.  That was the delicious aroma that filled the home, he thought, wondering if it would have taken him so long to recognize it if he hadn’t been so exhausted.  He collapsed into a chair at the table where Abby almost instantly climbed into his lap.

The little girl babbled incessantly, telling her Papa everything about her day.  “Today we learned about the planets and the sun is VERY far away.  So far that it doesn’t burn us.  Well, it burn you.  Why do you burn Papa?”  Her energy and happy disposition were infectious and Q chuckled, holding his daughter close.

“Because Papa is pale and almost never leaves work or home.  Daddy at least gets to go out in the sun sometimes so he is immune to it, just like you three.”  He could see James trying not to smile, that half-smirk he knew so well making an appearance as Bond attempted to hide it, stirring the sauce and looking away.  “I don’t want to hear it from you, love.”

* * *

 

Dinner finished and dishes washed, the whole family put on pyjamas and piled into the large bed in James and Q’s room to watch a film.  James had made sure homework was done before Q even got home so Q wanted to spend time with his family, uninterrupted by work or the outside world in general.  Mobiles were left in the kitchen, laptop stayed off, the entire focus on simply being together.  By the end of the film, Abby slept soundly on James’ chest while the twins were curled against Q, one on each side snoring lightly.  This was heaven on earth, the man he loved and their three perfect children; Q could ask for nothing more in his life.

“Do you want to talk about it?” James asked as he turned off the telly, one hand resting on Abby’s hair, stroking lightly.

Q shook his head.  What happened and happened, there was no point in reliving it.  “Just one of those days,” he said with a half shrug.  “But you need to see M first thing tomorrow because I will not have another lecture like that.”  Amusement painted his words as both knew that Q would be subject to many more of those lectures before James retired.

“I’ll do my best.”

The response prompted an eye roll from Q, who rolled over and gave James a soft kiss.  “You really are an insufferable twat.”

James’ eyes went wide with mock horror, “There are children present!  That language Q!”

Rolling his eyes once more, Q turned off the light, sliding down to lay between his sleeping sons.  “Yes, and they are sound asleep.  Which I will be in a few minutes.”

He could hear James getting settled as well, shifting to better accommodate Abby.  “And how is your day now?” James muttered, his own voice sounding heavy with sleep.

“The best kind.”


End file.
